You are Full of Shit: Nobody Chooses to be a Toilet
I did not choose to be a toilet. It happened by forces beyond my control. When I first saw the light of day, I was quickly placed into darkness for two years in a warehouse. Of course, I talked to the others. We heard the used toilet down the hall with his whoopsies choking on water, gurgling, it was easy to empathize.
People don’t ask how a toilet feels about being used. Well, nobody asks a toilet much of anything. A toilet spins around with water each day, carrying what the toilet in the back said was human waste. I couldn’t see yet, as I was in a box, ready to be transported when called. I figured I’d celebrate not being in the darkness. The darkness comes and eats all of our hopes and dreams. I hoped I’d get into a lovely house.
“You guys don’t understand where you are going to go,” said the toilet that people used. He cried out in vain, quite like a horror show of sound. I certainly didn’t want to go near him with the mysterious human waste. I didn’t ask for this but wanted to make the most of it, you know?
We heard strange noises all around us: Clanks, boos from possible ghosts, and noise from the used toilet.
And my day came when a beeping machine picked me up and put me into another moving object. People shouted words, and then we were off with this strange motion machine. I did miss the used toilet’s wisdom and stories after a few miles.
I would not be content for long.
I was placed into a “restaurant’s” bathroom. At first, I felt as if my fate was good and that I’d never be used until this man came in and sat on me.
“How rude, sir,” I told him. He couldn’t understand the language of things. I saw a long turd come out of his butt and drop into the water, my water.
I was astounded, offended, and wanted to scream, the AUDACITY! I felt so dirty and unpleasant as about eight more little streams of poo became my contents. Oh, can you imagine the injustice of it all, the deplorable acts people did, and they called themselves civilized. I didn’t know how lucky I was with my first.
I got all sorts of waste thrown at me. I couldn’t move my parts. I couldn’t shit on them or thrust it up their asses. Drunk men bowed into me, and I tried to reach their faces. I was shit over twenty times a day, and people threw things into me. The plumber yelled at me to work. It wasn’t me. Johnny put his grade card down the toilet.
And then it happened, the motherload. One day a large man with sunburnt skin and peels came in with a neon jacket. I knew I would not recover, as he took his hat off and threw away an empty beer. I tried to move, but I was a thing and couldn’t surpass these animals, these “living” things that came and went with such little regard.
I learned a new word that day, "diarrhea.” It went everywhere, down the sides, into the water up to his ass and even into the great beyond, shit went places I didn’t think it could do, eruptions into space wouldn't have surprised me. And then he left like it was nothing.
The plumber came back along with the janitor. “What animal did this?” the plumber asked. He began his work after the janitor sanitized the room.
Once they were done, the janitor said, “I need to use the toilet, man.” The plumber left the crime site.
“You are a piece of shit,” I said, as he started to sing off key, dropping them like bombs. I didn’t choose to be a toilet!
--Master Keiko, the cat.
